Rensdorf and plump, whilst attempting a co-ordinated whispering move (Marlon Brando v that Horse bloke, circa 1995) have missed the point. Bloddy novices, don't you just luv 'em? So, straddle to Euston (dropping a ceramic as I do so) puts the whole city circle into instablility yet allowing myself an out. Work it out, suckers - especially you, Tuj, since I've got your castanet (it's/they are plural, like sheep!) Cast a net? So simple with you simpletons.

Dujon] the point of this game is to be bad-tempered and tetchy, NOT to just be a pretentious CU*T.
1.Wake up.
2. Smell the BO.
3. Shower.
4. Use soap.

Liverpool Street.

Aaaargh - you can all f*ck off, the lot of you. I've got a date tomorrow night and I don't know what to wear. Rickmansworth emergency curry stop.

Clapham Junction and you can all go shit yourselves.

As I was explaining just the other day to the Archbishop of Canterbury, players committing such absurdities as Dujon has thus far manifested should be soundly laughed at until they learn their place, which is somewhere south of the bottom rungs of a kindergarten MC ladder. Canada Water, which sweeps away his pitiful excuse for a token stack. Ha! Ha! As the Icelandic proverb has it, a novice stinks in three moves. [penelope] Full leathers and a pink tutu.

Rensdorf] Though you are an excellent fashio guru (spot the sarcasm), I agree with Dujon: it is obvious that you are an arrogant wanker.
Canning Town, straddling.

[Tuj} May you grow man breasts and forever have to cover yourself in the communal shower. Holland Park ... and where's that nauseating little turd, st dogmael, scurried off to?

Rained Off, or whatever your fucking name is, name dropping the A of C carries no kudos here. The only thing I can say, in these circumstances is Chigwell and that should put that tart Chalky into a right little strop.